Murderous Instinct
by lovestory112
Summary: "It'd be too easy, if the thought of death would kill something itself"he said "but the world doesn't work that way, as you so rightly know." She glared" Just because I murdered my father, doesn't mean I'm a cold-hearted killer," His eyes pierced hers as he answered back mischievously, yearning. "I guess we'll have to change that." EXTREMELY OOC/AU, Full summary inside.
1. Chapter 1:Him

**Hello. This is just the beginning of a story in the theme I'd read and loved. As said in the summary, extremely OOC and AU, but I'm just hoping you will like it. Tell me what you thought in a review, if i should continue, exct.**

_**Just a run down-short term summary.**_

_ Clary lived with her abusive father until one night she murders him and is forced to run than meet jail time. She runs into Jace Wayland, an assassin/vigilante and ends up getting sucked into his games of mind teasing and killing. Clary is forced into their company, and she tries to battle ruthless killing instinct, unrecognised feelings for said Jace Wayland, while figuring out why all her associates and "friends" keep dying._

*****WARNING, I'm directing this story down a darker path, one many may not like, or at least this is my intention. The rating might change, don't know yet. If you don't like this style I am warning you of this stories possibilities in the future. Please try, but if you don't like the style I'm totally suggesting to not read my story. Graphic scenery, might be gross, again it was intended to be, please don't read if uncomfortable.**

**Also, wow this A/N is longer than expected, the summary is NOT definite. I might just happen to change the plot if i have an epiphany. Or a good idea. Just another warning for any potential readers out there who like to know what you're going to read. That's not me. **

**Hopefully you enjoy*** _i really sincerely do._**

* * *

She was late.

She _couldn't _be late.

Being late led to the suspicion, which stemmed the rage, that un-caged the beast. Being late meant that yet another bruise would decorate the bracelets stringing around her arms, the necklace at her throat, the lining of her slim stomach. More sore nights when curling onto the floor, coated in a thin layer of blankets, made her body audibly groan.

She _hated _being late,

she hated _him._

Clary's soft footfalls, always soft for he just _detested _loud noises, seemed to ring and echo on the dim lit street of her slummy neighborhood. The darkness that festered in the alleyways between buildings seemed to swallow and drain, cascading into the streets and outlining the doorways so only the few stuttering lights provided refuge. But as Clary sped down the shadowed sidewalks she could only welcome the darkness, for it was all she had known, for it was the only time she was actually safe. Bursting into her front hallway Clary kicked off her shoes, aligning them with a nudge of her foot so _he _didn't have yet another thing to get mad about.

Her world was a blurry haze as Clary walked to the kitchen. It was just down the hallway, and Clary's bare feet seeped into the faded green carpeting, as she walked her hands shook lightly. Noticing this she calmed herself with touch.

Touch always calmed her.

She brushed her free one across the browning paint of the hallways walls. Paint that used to be white. Clary remembered it from a time when things were better, when her whole family was still with her, was still alive.

Slowing her steps to a normal pace she past the living room, where Clary slept every night on the grungy carpet. Past the coffee table that was staked high with used mugs and plates Clary was supposed to clean up.

She hadn't done that either in her rush to leave this morning.

Another thing he'd be mad about.

Her fingers brushed the old paneling of a chipping door and revealed their cluttered kitchen. The only part of this house that Clary was in more than her father.

_Her father._

_He _stood there, on the tiled kitchen floor, face stoic and set with resolve. For a minute it was silent and calm and Clary could take the sight of him in.

He was holding a dirty mug in front of him, plates in the sink behind him were collecting from the breakfast he had to make himself this morning. In the waist band of his week-old jeans, his hand hovering just slightly above, was a steely, black revolver. Its leather grip was a molding black with fingerprint smudges glinting in the light, telling its mass use. The metallic wink of the trigger shone from its hiding place behind the barrel.

Waiting to be pulled.

Clary realized through her blurred mind that he'd already readied the gun, an empty cartridge laying on the table beside him.

Clary didn't speak for she knew it was better not to instigate an even more dramatic response. Yet she could practically feel the devilish man adding up all of her "mistakes", bundling them together into one gigantic one and working himself up, up, and then higher still, overloading with the rage and uselessness of the girl before him. He just had to explode...

"Clarissa," he said calmly, softly. It always started out in a whisper.

It ended in screams and shouts.

_But this time they don't have to be yours, _an innocent but tainted thought, not possible, a delusion of her temporarily incompetent mind. Her subconscious focused on the gun. _Maybe he'll end it with a bang instead._

Though it was more probable the thought didn't frighten her. In fact, the blur on her world had lessened its leash and out came a fog, overlapping her brain. Shutting it down so the pain wouldn't process, the hurt wouldn't appear during the brunt of the attack.

_How have you let him run your life so much that your own brain belongs to him now?_

More delusional thoughts.

_Your body, your soul, your mind._

_Why not take it back?_

Clary had never thought rebellious things before, the very _thought _of thinking bad things made feeling fester in her throat- a guilt. And she'd always blush when she was guilty, a tell-tale sign, thus leading to suspicion, then rage, then the beast.

The father.

Clary was pulled out of her mind with a snapping crack along her face, a blinding white light cutting the fog until it settled once again and the only words were "I_'m sorry, so sorry, I didn't mean to." _The thoughts still lingered though, unusual for this time of assault. And as wave after wave of blinding light, sometimes red, sometimes white, racked her brain they stayed. Steady. Persistent. Thoughts about _him_. Thoughts about the now shattered mug. Thoughts about the gun in the pants. But only in segments. They weren't entirely clear, like a conversation between two people on telephones where you could only hear one end. Or a walkie-talkie, breaking and crackling half way through the sentence.

"Listen to me when I talk to you, you ungrateful little _brat! _I bet you don't even know what you did _wrong! _You're just a stupid, useless _whore_!" Clary was on the ground, a throbbing pain in her ribs where she'd felt his boot connect with soft skin, as _he _looked down at her. His beady black eyes matched the snuffed corners of the walls, clashed with his blinding white hair. His face was the epitome of rage, and frightened her more than his flying fist and muscles.

Frightened her more than the hands around her neck.

Suddenly _he_ was there, crouched with his hands pinching her throat. It was already red and sore and the skin of his hands twisted the purple bruises so the stretched skin stung her entire neck; like the piece of flesh felt as one entity. His fingers were so long that they almost wrapped behind her ears, and _he _grasped hold of the tiny red hairs on the nape of her neck as he slammed her head backwards into the wall. Clary felt through her blurry haze as the drywall gave beneath her skull, the plaster running onto her forehead, down the bridge of her nose, and catching on her lips.

That's when the thoughts broke through.

_Put your hand on his forehead, shove his face back. _

_Take your arm and slide it up then slam it down on his wrists. Break them. Breathe._

_Then grab the gun._

_And shoot._

Clary didn't realize what she was doing until the blood had soaked her hands.

She pushed her feet up and kicked him in the chest, not pushing him away, just enough to weaken his death grip on her neck.

It was almost like following an instruction manual as Clary ducked from his grasp and grabbed the revolver, it slight catch on his belt creating a massive catch of her heart, but soon she felt the leather turning slick beneath her sweating palms. She'd taken his gun. She would get in _so _much trouble. She smiled as she aimed at his head, hanging as of he was knocked out cold.

Clary took in his silence and then screamed at him, raising her voice for the first time in years. "You were _never _a father!" She felt tears of rage stream down her face. "All I wanted was a real father! But you will _never _be him." Clary mentally scolded herself.

_Like he cared._

"And yes, _Valentine," _she felt a rush at saying his real name. He never let her. " I do, _in fact, _know why you are so_ unreasonably _angry!" Clary felt a lot like a dancer as she held the gun with both hands, gesturing with impaired hands, moving even closer to her fathers still form. "It's because I went to the _goddamned _hospital to fix an injury _you_ created."

_Wait..._still _form._

Clary nudged his hulking body with her toe. His flesh gave at the pressure, his body following the direction of forced movement. But Clary saw the movement of his chest and knew he was not dead. He was unconscious, vulnerable.

_It would be so easy..._

Clary couldn't help but agree with the whispered thought in her mind,

_To just aim, grip, and pull. He wouldn't even fight back._

_Just... shoot him._

And she could do it too. After all the years of suffering, all the weeks of broken bones and bruises left unhealed.

He did just try to kill her.

_A flick of the wrist and he would be gone, the cause of your pitiful life resting in hell._

He wouldn't even feel it.

He'd be dead before he knew what was happening.

_Just aim..._

Clary leveled the gun with her emerald eyes. She stared down the barrel, sighting her kill, her prey, the shine glaring into her eyes as she pointed the tip at his feathery white head. And then... she thought she saw her fathers hand twitch, a flicker of movement in this everlasting tableaux.

_Grip..._

She felt her hand tighten around the worn leather, electricity pulsing through her. Her hands fit into the grooves made by her fathers own, rough and calloused as the material on the gun frame..

Her father. He was her father.

Clary's aim held steady, not wavering at the thought.

But she would have nowhere to go. She'd have to run from the cops.

Now the aim started to waver, silence hanging eerily in her house that by now should have been filled with pleas and screams of mercy.

_Shoot,shoot,shoot,shoot. Shootshootshootshoot._

Her mind was screaming at her to follow the command..

But she shouldn't.

Clary lowered the gun.

And that's when he exploded off the floor. His face appeared in her vision first and those eyes, rage filled obsidian, left an imprint in her mind. It was as if she was suddenly reminded _who _stood in front of her. Of the many things he'd done to her.

Not her father.

_Him._

_You can kill the cops if you have to... _her mind was a devilish bastard.

As her personal Satan ran towards her, alarm registering in his obsidian orbs at her gun-wielding hand, she gave in.

To her thoughts, that is.

_Shoot._

It was a squeeze, a slight catch, then an even harder tug and suddenly a thunder storm erupted from the metal pieces in her hands. There was a slight change in sight, a clash of lighting and sound in her senses. Tastes of lead and ore and earth.

When it settled his blood coated the grungy kitchen wall in splatters and drips, flecks decorating her cheeks and nose and lips. A surge of power overcame her as she took in the coated ceiling, the walls, her kitchen looking like a fan had ripped apart a bag of raw meat. The red paint hidden in his body dripped beautifully off of her old icebox, the rivers and stream running the walls pooled in the grooves of the tiled floor. In place of his face was a body, marred hole.

_Perfect, well done. _She praised herself. Praise was aloud now that he was gone.

She promised herself she'd never regret what she did. Wiping the red freckles away from her cheeks she smiled, dropped the gun.

Hurrying now, Clary grabbed a bag of clothes she'd always kept packed, made her way over to the fire escape at one of their tiny apartments' windows, and she clambered onto the metal scaffolding.

The night no longer symbolized a due date, an alarm, a time to be home. The slummy streets of her neighborhood looked like a beautiful euphoric heaven, the lamp posts a hazy yellow that stretched on and on into the night. As rust and dirt flew along the gentle warm breeze, metal and sirens droned on beneath her, a motorcycle roared to life in an alley nearby, and shadows festered and consumed even more light, Clary was not afraid of anything.

She was in the night, _her home_, and her city, _a_ _mother_.

She was proud.

She was strong.

She was free.

_Finally._

* * *

**_Review with your thoughts please? Should I continue?_**

**This interpretation is _very _OOC, almost to the point where I want Clary on the brink of insanity. She'll be developing a lot as a character, I think.**

_** Jace will be in the next chapter, **_

**depending on if I will make a second chapter, (Can you guess where she'll meet him?) ****and I'm hoping to just write freely with this story. With loose minded characters its so easy to write a story that can do so many things and go so many ways. But it'll definitely have a plot.**

**ANYWAYS, let me know what you thought, favourite parts/parts i should look over and such.**

**Thank you for reading, follow, favourite, review, Lovestory112.**


	2. Chapter 2: Mischief It was mischief

**Disclaimer: I don't own TMI.**

**Thank you. A lot. I mean really. To all those who reviewed-because I don't like PMing back, seems unfair to Guests and I'm paranoid- I want to say thank you.**

**_OmegaBanda14-_yes this is supposed to be a dark fanfic, and you don't know how happy it made me to see you read and answered the ending A/N. I mean just. Thank you so much. And I think you might be a little surprised at how they meet. Tell me if u were._ Guest, LOVERGIRL, AnnaW14, and greygirl2358, _please keep being amazing and reviewing because you all inspired me to write this one!**

**Check out the song _Run _by _Daughter _because it helped create the bulk of this story and reading _purrina__'s _fanfic also helped with the idea in the beginning, though I swear mine's going to be different. I'm not one for copying stories or idea's.**

**I'm sorry if this one is boring. Hope you enjoy ***_again sincerely***_Follow, favourite, and review!**

* * *

Clary didn't know why she was running on rooftops.

She just..._wanted _to.

She liked the feeling of the wind ripping across her body, made even more forceful by her altitude and speed. She liked the smell that wind carried, a rusty, smoky mixture that didn't clog her lungs, but reminded her of her escapades in an attic when she was a child. She liked the way her feet pounded against the slats of flat roofs, tin and metal clanging beneath the soles of her feet as she ran from unfathomable capture. It was..._fun._

She liked knowing that she was disrupting the sleep of so many people, some innocent, some worthy of disruption. She liked knowing that she was causing a ripple in a calm lake. She liked knowing that in a world of capture and rule and power, where the only stillness was the blanket of night, she was free to do as she pleased.

Do as she wanted.

And currently she wanted to run on rooftops.

_You're like a bird, _her mind reveled. Her thoughts of rebelling danger had been silenced by the beauty that was the euphoria in her veins. Clary barely knew what she was feeling. It was a rush of adrenaline and excitement and energy, though a leisurely pleasure as well. It was everything, all at once.

And then the thoughts slithered back into her mind, erupting the building pleasure. Clary had the realization of seeing a gap in between houses she raced across. A _large _gap.

Now, the logical thing to do was climb down and onto the dark street below, and yet the combination of her lingering pleasure and seductive thoughts didn't let her think logically.

Irrationally, insanely, psychotically, would have been better adjectives.

_You could fly_

Her thoughts were raspy and voiced, like a separate entity, in her head. Persuasive. Compelling. And the ideas themselves were extremely alluring.

Too alluring.

Clary didn't know if it was because she'd never experienced any other than fear, anticipation and paranoia, but danger was the most alluring thing in the world at the moment. Because it came with risk. And risk came with choice. And choice was freedom.

_You could _actually _fly. _

_If you jumped._

_You would soar like a bird._

Clary's grin was ear to ear as she launched herself without hesitation into the air before her, speed propelling her body through the night. It was like infinity. Complete and utter nothingness wrapped in a shinny black bow.

For a minute Clary was weightless, and the silence of the night engulfed her small form. It was darkness all around, above, below, surrounding her delicate bones. But it wasn't consuming. This darkness was silky and sensual, a beckoning seductress to her vulnerable, partially corrupted soul.

_You w_ant _to be corrupted._

Yes, corruption was fun. Corruption was exciting. Corruption was free.

Clary dropped from the small infinity the jump had created, and fell to the next building in a roll, thoughts of corrupting entities lingering in her skull. When she'd brushed the gravel off her shoulders and dusted out her hair she ran and jumped the next gap. This time the tin roof sliced a shallow cut in her palm.

And yet Clarissa still ran.

Enjoyed the pain and intense _feeling _that washed over her.

She jumped.

_Flew._

The next gap was between the squat abode she was currently on and a taller building. Maybe two stories. But there was a window on the side, one Clary knew she could grab. The space between the buildings was the largest space, a side road, and still Clary launched herself into the swirling night.

This time the rush had effected her in a negative way.

And Clary plummeted to the ground.

_flying_

* * *

It was a strange experience, falling.

Like a weight was dragging you through an ocean of incredibly light water. Clary was free-falling between the building, directly towards the pavement.

But the thing was that in the hazy glow of street lamps the pavement looked, not soft, but pliable, watery. As if something could fall right through. And so Clary righted herself and braced her body for the suctioning landing.

Of course it didn't come.

Searing pain lit her ankles and caves as her bones creaked with the force of her weight and impact speed. She could swear she heard her shin splinter into twigs of white bone and marrow. The heels of her feet groaned and collapsed as she stood, paralyzed.

Her feet were shoulder width apart and most definitely bruised, her back was slightly hunched and hunkered into a defensive crouch. And her arms were glinting with this red slime as the oncoming headlights shine down upon her form.

Wait, head-what's?

Forgetting the pain Clary's head shot up. In front of her a sleek black motorcycle was tearing around the corner, the drivers helmet glinting gold like the sun. A sun directly under the moon. Clary briefly wondered if it was the same one she'd heard by her house until she realized that the man had out a cell phone and was starting to slow, seeing her bent body.

It was like life was in slow motion. He'd pulled out his phone, steadying the handle bars with the other hand, his bike roaring loudly in the night, the loudest sound she'd ever heard.

That is until the familiar boom of thunder echoed across the nearly empty street.

The same sensation from her gunshot altered the light and sound, making it clash within Clary's ears. When her senses adjusted once again she saw the man's body laying still in front of her. His bike had spun into a nearby ally, the headlights still glaring into her direction, washing the horrific scene in a flaxen light, sleek black frame now smashed and cut with silver. Her arms were dripping with fresh blood, coating her fathers old crusty life with this victim's.

When a boy, man really, walked onto the street, hair glinting the same gold as the marred and bloodied corpse in front of her, Clary just raised her eyebrows.

He stalked closer to her, his arrogance defining the stance of his towering frame and the placement of his feet, seducing smirk just as alluring as danger and nightfall. His eyes flashed the same gold as the sun, his hand flashed the colour of the stars.

This was because of a battered old ring.

And, of course, the shot gun as well.

When he was close enough to hear, Clary realized his voice was a more attractive calling than bloodshed was to a knife.

"Next time you chose to blatantly murder someone in a relatively quite neighborhood, " in his mocking smile teeth flashed white. "I suggest doing it with windows and doors closed. Oh," he plastered a fake surprise on his face. "And make sure you don't flee, from the suspected crime scene...on rooftops...in the middle of the night...directly after gun shots." His chuckle made her shiver, equal part dislike and desire. "Seems a _tad _suspicious, and drew out a couple of witnesses." He nudged the body between them with a toe and just laughed at her, amusement gleaming in his eyes.

So it _was _the motorcyclist from near her house, just before she ran.

_You can't let him talk to you like that. _

_You're strong now. _This inner voice of hers seemed a tad too cocky. Clary liked that.

"Of_ course," _She replied sarcastically, wanting, _needing _to wipe the smirk off of his lips.

_Wanting his lips in general._

She told herself to shut up. And continued trying to retort her argument aptly. She'd had virtually no practice in the art of witty sarcasm. "Because murdering an innocent in the middle of a side street isn't suspicious at _all." _She copied the mocking of his voice._  
_

His smirk just grew.

_You know how to wipe it off._

_Make those lips busy instead._

_Those lush, gorgeously full lips..._

Clary quickly tuned into what he was saying, ignoring the feeling festering in her chest, her throat, tingling all the way to her stomach and aching. "I had to kill him. It's my job. _And, _"he placed one finger up. It was long and tapered, not a killers fingers. "he was fleeing from the scene as well, I imagine after you, and was a possible suspect. For all I know," He played at faux innocence. "He could have killed you! A suspect of murder deserves to die, do they not?"

His words should have frightened her, but they didn't. In fact, she felt his being so unaffected by this killing, this murder was almost...sexy. Attractive.

Was that wrong?

_No, not at all._

But it should have been.

_Who cares what should be?_

"No." She spoke in the accusing voice her father used with her to almost reprimand the man for thinking so. "And, I _imagine" _she mocked him in any way she could. His words, his tone. His hooded and sultry gaze. "That you'll kill me too. I am, in fact, the _prime _suspect." She cocked a hand on her hip and switched her weight. The movement caused her slight pleasurable pain in the legs. It also made them tingle as the movement caught his attention. Clary found she parted her lips as his gaze traveled down her body. His eyes lingering here and there, and everywhere, landing in no one place.

"Do you realize that blood is covering almost every inch of your _lovely _body, Red?" His voice was like a quartet of angels. _  
_

"No," she replied. Looking down and seeing in the yellow light that she was, in fact, coated in blood. "I hadn't. And don't call me Red. Are you going to kill me?"

He didn't answer her question.

_The arrogant, sexy, bastard. _Her mind whispered. Clary felt the rest of her body agree.

" It's a nice colour on you." His eyes finally fixed to hers again. "Who is it, that you killed?"he asked.

She looked him in the eyes as she answered,"Satan reborn, Lucifer, the devil, a demon. My father. Whichever you'd like to call him is fine by me, I, and this is _quite _surprising, don't give a damn about him. You said killing people is your job. Are you an assassin?" She tried surprising him into answering this time. And hope flared when it, and this actually was surprising, worked.

An assassin knew how to hide bodies. And run from cops. And kill viscious bastards like the scummy friends Clary's father always kept around.

Assassins were free.

_And you want to be free right?_

"Yes and no. I kill people for a living. But I also kill them if I think the did something worth dying for. Or if they bother me. Or if I just want to." He smiled cheekily "Always on the road. Always on my own... and I like it that way" he replied, eyes taking her into a new light as he added the information Clary gave into a seemingly mental filing cabinet. Voice putting up a front to her hopes.

But Clary didn't take his small hint. In fact, the thing that was meant to lead her away drew her even closer. The lifestyle was _extremely _tempting.

_You'd actually be free._

But she would probably have to kill people.

_And if it gave you that rush, if you felt that thrill of bloodshed..._

_"_Mmmm," she murmured. A world of night and lust and killing euphoria. Freedom.

"What?" The man asked Clary.

"Can I come? With you?" she replied, doing what he had done and answering a question with another.

The man just flit his eyes away. "I'm pretty sure that's _not _what you said..." he muttered.

"Look," Clary grew suddenly impatient. She couldn't wait long, and staying here in the open with a dead body at her feet wasn't going to help her case if caught either. So she was blunt with her next statement. "Don't play games with me. My whole life I've been trapped by some man that wanted to play with me and that is _not _happening now. I killed my father, partially out of hatred, but mainly because I wanted to be free. You're either going to bring me with you or not. I need to know now because, in case you haven't noticed, I'm going to be the first person the cops track down. And I want to get far away from the crime scene _you _created as well, so, I'd like to know what is going to happen and I'd like to know now."

She stomped her foot and it erupted into pain. Clary's only show of pain was the slight draw of her eyebrows.

She was good at hiding pain.

And apparently she good at persuading.

The man's eyes shifted into a calculating look, with something else Clary had never seen before.

But Clary hadn't met many people.

"You killed him because you wanted to be free, eh?" He asked. Mischief. It was mischief as well. A dangerous, brewing, playful risk.

"I killed him because I wanted my life back." She explained and watched as his eyes told nothing of his answer. " And now that I've got it I am _not _letting the criminal justice system take it away. Now what will it be?"

The man smiled as dawn rose behind him, outlining his head in a fuzzy warm glow. Clary had never seen something less ominous or beautiful,

"Come with me."

**Sorry if that was boring, I know that may not have been a good first/second impression but please review. It made my entire, like month, last chapter.**

*******Question: What voice do you picture when you read Clary's thoughts? Do they seem like a darker side of Clary?**

**Anyways things will get a little more tense between Jace and Clary, and it may seem unrealistic for Jace to just take Clary in but I have everything included later on in the plot. I was aiming for a sort of dark attraction between the two. **

**Again, this may seem a lot like purrina's story Chaos, _which is amazing may I add_, but I'm trying to make the idea my own. It's going to change. Clary's going to get really...Jace-like. Tell me if it's too close to the other story please? I don't want to copy it...**

**Please follow, favourite, and review...Thank you all for reading. It means a bunch.**

**Lovestory112.**


	3. Chapter 3:He Chuckled Yet Again

**Disclaimer: No TMI ownership, **

**Shoutouts to reviewers: _OmegaBanda14-_I just _love _reading all the things you have to say. It's such a cool concept, isn't it? Our minds are the only truly unknown things in this universe. _AnnaW14-_Thank you so much for all the faith, LOVERGIRL, AngelBliss (both of you guys are guests and I love your reviews) and I am leaning towards a headstrong Clary, thanks for the insight. Oh, and the other Guest. Thanks for the reassurance.**

**Please, review and follow and favourite if you have not already. Thanks to those who followed and favourited last time._  
_**

**I sincerely hope you enjoy.**

* * *

"It seems as if you're plotting to murder me yourself,"

Clary had whispered this in the serene dawn that settled around her exhausted bones. In a shadowed ally, the man had taken her, his face made solely of smoldering darkness when he finally turned to meet her stare. It was said in a sarcastic, almost sultry tone, washing in hints of flirtation.

Clary had copied it, tone, words, and all from the times her mother, Jocelyn, was pushed into dark rooms by her father's 'friends'.

The friends Clary hated.

Clary would be sitting in the living room, playing with her dolly - a small mangled barbie with hazardously cut hair, found when digging through her neighbors' dumpster - her fathers white head bobbing as equally white powder drifted off his and his 'friends' chins. Her mother would walk by and one man would call to her, profane language whom Clary would be spanked if she'd have used. They'd even, if they were feeling particularly frisky that day, grab at her. Jocelyn would stop, drop them a forced wink and they'd pull her into darkness. Further from the dim light in the living room. Further from Clary. And after bangs and clashes and moans, a tea party with Barbie, Jocelyn would walk out smooth and careful, the man completely ruffled, handing her father a wad of bills.

There were so many memories of the same tedious routine, before the death of her dear beloved mother, that the times all seemed to blur together.

Except for that line.

"It seems as if you're going to murder me."

That was _her_ line.

It was as if they _had _murdered her, killing her every time they did whatever it was they felt like. And Clary would have been completely oblivious for the truth of what happened had her father not tried to suck her in too, after her mothers untimely demise. Each time those dirty, unkempt, crack-addicts touched her, Jocelyn would die. Over and over again.

_They murdered your mother._

_Your mother._

_You should murder them._

The thought made her eyes darken with a slightly sick desire.

_To feel their blood squish between her fingers. _

_The first, then second. The third and forth and fifth bastard, all so equally deserving._

_Oh, to see their brains explode, shattering against the wall as if the were nothing more than blown glass._

That thought made her snicker aloud. Because, they were, in fact, nothing but breakable toys that were blown too much for any real use.

The thought spurred the memories again and suddenly all Clary saw was that dark room, almost as if she were in her house again. The feel of dirt scratching her thighs on the muddy green carpet, the sound of sweet harmonics drifting down the hallway, usually accompanied by a gruff grunt, or even a chuckle at the best of times.

"It seems as if you're going to murder me..." her mother would always, _always _whisper...

"Well, that would be _quite _the unexpected twist, hm?" The man's words snapped Clary out of the onslaught of abrupt memories and into reality. Why said memories had erupted in Clary's mind, she wasn't sure.

She'd always made sure never to remember.

Because it made her mad at those men.

Then mad at her father.

And being mad at her father meant she was being disrespectful. Which led to suspicion, and then rage, and then the beast. People didn't break out of habits that quickly, did they? So why, no _how _could she start to remember now?

_Because you're free to be mad._

_That's exactly why. You. Are. Free._

Clary smiled at the man before her, her teeth flashing white in their alcove of darkness. "Yes, quite an unexpected twist..."

_You _can _murder them, you know._

_You're with an assassin._

_It'd be sweet, sweet, revenge._

Clary licked her lips at the thought and felt blood lust well inside her veins. "Where are we going?" was all she said to the man before her.

He chuckled. Clary had to get used to people laughing so often. The noise made her uncomfortable. But not in a bad way, almost as if she wanted to feel that chuckle vibrate against her skin. Feel his lips on her neck, on her arms, on her legs, and feet, and cheeks. Everywhere. She swallowed back the feeling and cocked her eyebrows at the man.

"You're so..._eager _for everything." He smiled. "I like it."

Clary bit down hard on her slightly chapped bottom lip. She feigned the brovado in her next statement, but she took it as a good sign it came easy for her to do so. Clary never liked being that scared little girl she was with her father. She wanted to be confident, cocky. She'd always admired those who were, whom had the perfect amount of compassion mixed within. Like her mother. She'd always admired her mother until...

Clary blinked suddenly and spit out her sentence. "You never answered my question from before."

The man chuckled...again. "I'm quite skilled in the art of avoiding questions."

This time the evasion wasn't endearing, but got on her nerves. She didn't feel like being avoided. Or talked down to. In fact, he had no right to speak like that to her in the first place...

Wait... she never thought it was endearing.

She never thought about it period.

_Yes you did._

_You like that he holds himself high enough to not be direct. You like how in control he is._

No.

_Yes._

Maybe...

"Just answer the _goddamned _question." Clary couldn't help but think that was the closest thing she'd ever gotten to swearing aloud. It gave her a rush.

"You didn't ask a question that time." He smirked. Smirked!

"It was implied." She snapped, liking the way his eyes glinted when she said it in that tone. Liking the way the words just...tumbled from her mouth with no restraint.

_"Was it?" _

Clary narrowed her brows. She couldn't help but realize in this banter he was still, unashamedly might she add, avoiding the question. And so she brought this forth. "You're still avoiding the question. You're taking me with you right? And if I'm going with you I have a right to know where I'm going."

He smirk grew. "Actually, you don't," He started moving backwards with small steps. "_I'm _doing _you _a favor, and therefore _I _am entitled to what information is withheld." He started walking away and Clary felt her heart flutter with panic.

"Where are you going?" she burst out. She'd been doing a lot of that lately. He stopped and turned, eyes glinting like sparks as the sun filtered the dark from his irises. He pulled something from his boot and threw it towards her. She caught the temporary UFO and fumbled it in her hands or a second or two, causing him to chuckle.

Yet again.

"Keep that with you. For protection. I'll be back in a second." And with that he disappeared into the shadows.

Clary felt utterly alone and vulnerable without his presence. Like the alleyway they were in was suddenly an ocean and Clary was smack dab in the middle. Alone. She glanced down at the object in her hands and seen that her fingers had already found the proper groves, threaded themselves with the steel.

It was a gun.

A pistol, to be exact.

_Think of what you could do with that gun._

_The people you could torture, maim...murder._

Those _people._

_The ones that killed your mother._

But Clary didn't want to think about her mother. It made her angry. She felt her free hand clench into a fist, her not-so-free hand squeeze so hard into the shining metal that it made indents in her palm. She wanted to shoot something.

Really, really, r_eally _badly.

She wanted to shoot _them._

A man strolled past the opening of the alley, an early commuter, light hazing around his body. He stopped and froze, paralyzed, and Clary could almost _feel _his eyes widen at the scene before him. The scene of the dead motorcyclist Clary had almost forgotten about.

"Oh my god," she heard him mutter, the wind carrying the sound towards her, and as the man pulled a cell phone from his pocket, flipping up the plastic, Clary felt her hands move.

It was as if they were a separate entity, moving on their own accord. And she did nothing to stop them. She justified it as making sure she and her...companion had enough time for a quick getaway. But she really just wanted to shoot something.

And this innocent man was that something.

She aimed, blowing fiery curls from obscuring her view, and clenched her fingers, taking the metal trigger with her. Their was a soft 'puff' and Clary saw her shot run straight through the man's head, spraying a sheet of blood in a gush behind him. She smirked as he fell to the ground and felt tension recede from her muscles in waves.

She had found a new way to relieve stress.

_Good for you, now here comes another way._

The assassin walked around the corner of the alleyway, only glancing at the body beside him before turning to arc an eyebrow at Clary. She beamed at him, dried blood from the two lives she'd ended cracking like a shell on her cheeks. "You ready?" his voice sounded. She decide blatantly that she liked his voice.

_You want to hear it moan your name, scream it for the world to hear._

Yes, that too.

"Are you?" She answered back.

He scowled, not the response she'd been expecting but satisfying non-the-least. "What do you mean?"

She smirked. "I don't think I'd have imagined you confused before this moment. I thought it would be a completely avoided emotion."

His eyebrows narrowed. Apparently _he _didn't like having his questions avoided either."Listen," he said, mischief present in his eyes. "I can handle whatever you can throw at me, I'm _always _ready, or have you not noticed that I w_as _the one to save your ass just mere minutes ago. Unexpectedly, might I add."

She smiled. "My..._ass_ didn't need saving. Or, at least, not by you." Clary liked swearing. It made her feel powerful.

He just chuckled. It made her lick her bottom lip. "Are you _trying _to actively work against your coming with me? Because just a couple minutes ago, you seemed extremely desperate to jump into my car and let me drive you away."

"You never directly answered my question to that, by the way. _Am I _coming with you?" she replied, turning the conversation back on him to avoid her blip in sanity. She really needed to work on putting priority before pride.

"Of course," he smirked childishly, she couldn't decide whether or not she liked it when he looked cute. Sexy fit him more. It was written into his very being. "You've grown on me. " With that he turned and started walking. Clary knew he was expecting her to follow behind and so she did exactly the opposite, knowing it wasn't best to test the waters, but doing so anyways.

_You know you want to. _

_You want to know what makes him tick._

He stopped when he noticed the absence of her presence, almost at the mouth of the alley, near the dead body. But when he twirled to face her, he didn't comment on her position. Instead his words were, "Do you regret killing him? An innocent?"

Clary eyed the corpse with a detached mind. "No," she said blankly, knowing that it was probably wrong of her not to. It was just that Clary had seen so many innocents pass by her house, hear her screams, and not care, that Clary no longer cared about them.

And if they died then they'd have one less moment in their most likely pitiful lives.

"He wasn't anything to me. And I wasn't anything to him. He didn't even know I was the one who killed him so...really...who cares?" She looked up and the acceptance in his eyes made Clary walk towards him.

_You were going to go with him anyways..._her mind whispered.

She smiled as he did, and when he said "That was exactly the answer I was looking for," Clary couldn't help the swell of pride blooming in her chest.

* * *

She followed him until they got to a sleek black corvette. The man pulled a set of keys from his jeans, one that couldn't help but fail in hiding the muscles of his legs as he strode towards the vehicle. Clary moved towards the opposite side and waited. The man pushed a button on an attachment of his key chain then gracefully swooped inside the car, closing his door with a thump.

Clary felt her cheeks turn red with embarrassment.

She'd never been inside a car before.

She'd seen them, heard them, watched people inside of them countless times, but had actually..._been _inside a car.

So when Clary reached towards the handle and pulled, she didn't expect the force in which the door swung open, causing her to fall alongside it. He face grew even more heated.

Clary heard the man chuckle as she clambered up and slumped into the leather seats, acutely aware of how the material hugged her thighs and back. She turned towards the golden man as he tried to hold back a smile.

"You've ah, got to close the door."

Clary blushed and sulked further into her seat before slamming the door closed. She felt immensely chagrined as he inserted the keys into a slot and the machine surrounding them purred with life.

"Never been in a car before?" He mocked, disbelief with slight asperity. Clary tried to swallow her new-found anger.

"No, my father always made me walk because he said that I would contaminate the most precious thing we owned with my disgusting body, one whom came from the whore I called my mother." She recited. At the time she felt indifferent towards the comment, too numb by her mothers death to feel anything but now she just thought of it as funny. She laughed.

She might have been disgusting but at least she wasn't dead.

The man turned towards her with a calculating gaze. Clary just stared evenly back, not caring of what her father or the man thought about herself. The man seemed satisfied with what he found in her gaze and turned to face the road before slamming his foot down on the gas petal. The car lurched forward with surprising grace.

Clary just embraced the spastic movement. She turned to him as they soared down hazy streets.

"I never caught your name." She said with implied question

"I never gave it." He replied.

Clary sighed. "_What's your name?_" Her words were through gritted teeth. Why should she give him the satisfaction of a direct question when he never gave her a direct answer?

She saw him smirk from the corner of her eye, face all planes and shadows as the sun intruded on this scene.

"Jace. Jace Wayland. A _pleasure _to meet you."

**Review?**

**Pretty please?**

**I know this one may have been boring as well, a little too long for the expanse of what happened but I really want this fanfic to almost be like a book. I'm into explaining things in detail, descriptive writing and such, but please tell me if my story starts to sound too much like a school project.**

**Like I warned you all, I had an epiphany which just so happened to change the plot, but I thought I could sneak it into this chapter instead of having to re-write the other ones. **

*****Question: When do you think Clary will tell Jace _her _name? She didn't yet, if you haven't noticed.**

**Anyways, please follow, favourite, review, or even just read this again. Because I love it when people read my stories.**

**Lovestory112 :)**


	4. Chapter 4:One Large Bruise

**Disclaimer: I don't own TMI**

**You Are All The Best! There was a reason that was all starting in capital letters. Because It's true. So...Thank you for reviews and favs and follows. I mean it.**

**Shoutouts:_OmegaBanda14- _I grin stupidly after reading your reviews- only thing that I can say. _AnnaW14-_I'm so happy you caught the mischievous, risky vibe, it was exactly what i was going for, _blubery- _thank you for the encouragement, it made me smile uncontrollably. And _LOVERGIRL- _I love it when people say update soon. It makes me want to update. So thanks for that.**

**Enjoy, _in the most sincere way of course._**

* * *

She was slouched, not so much so that it looked unkempt or ugly, but almost elegantly, as if the scarce fabric on her slender shoulders sunk them into a natural allure. She was leaning against a brick wall, for the buildings had become very modern over the expanse of their ride. And she was looking like a photograph in campaign about corruption with her skin-tight skirt, loose fitting top, and painted lips; a cigarette falling from the two canvases. Not a photograph then, but a masterpiece of visual artistry.

Clary smiled. She often had a weakness for beautiful things. Sometimes she wondered if that was the reason for her mass liking of Jocelyn.

Clarissa absorbingly watched as a man in a suit passed the flirtatious woman.

_Look at the way her mouth tilts, pouts, keep that with you._

_And use that seducing look, watch as the man's gaze sticks to her own. You could do that if you tried._

Clary's mind usually did this automatically. Living with her father had coerced her into being a quick learner, pushing her to observe things that would benefit herself. And she liked how this woman, this sex-slave, this _prostitute, _held herself, like she was above all. Her gaze held temptation. Temptation was a choice. And choice was free.

Clary wanted to hold temptation in the palms of her hands.

The woman Clary had been watching locked her eyes on Jace as his long legs carried him swiftly back to the car from the aged building he was exiting. The woman uncrossed her legs and stood almost as if in an offensive position, feet shoulder width apart and leaning forward slightly, making her silvery scrap of shirt hang loose. Her pale legs looked as if they ran on for miles and Clary watched as her mouths formed words, but cursed the glass windows of the car for not letting the sound travel to Clary's ears.

She wanted to see if Clary could use her tone as well.

As Jace turned around his eye seemed to twitch, the same sly wink Clary's mother often gave the men that flirted with her, then continued on to open the drivers side door.

Clary suddenly didn't like this woman as much as she did just mere minutes ago. Her inner thoughts sneered,

_Jealousy is just a lack of self confidence._

_And you are _very _jealous._

_You can be sexy, you can have any man you wanted if you tried._

Clary didn't quite believe that.

_Then prove it to yourself._

As Jace stuck his key in the ignition Clary watched the woman flick her blond curls over one shoulder and resume her perch, eyes scanning for prey, smirk plastered like a bloody smear on her lips. "What'd she say to you?" Clary asked, trying not to sound _too _curious.

"Nothing much." Jace, _e__ven his name gives you shivers, _just barely hid the smile that was lurking behind his lips.

"Well," Clary turned to him and he sped off into the dawn. "what's nothing much?"

"My god," he turned and glanced at her before screeching hazardously around a corner, the sound bringing his attention back to the road, where it belonged.

_If you think like that, nobody is going to seek you out. Think forwardly, his gaze belongs on you and only you._

Their_ gazes should be filled by you, with the exception of their blood._

Clary shook thoughts of murder from her mind as she honed in on his voice, "You ask a _lot _of questions!"

"Yes, and what's wrong with curiosity?" The truth was Clary already knew. Curiosity lead to suspicion. Suspicion lead to rage and...well...rage never used to be good.

_You know what a good use for rage would be._

_Killing the sick fools that were the reason of your mother's death._

_Oh yes. _If her mind had a mouth its lips would turn into a smirk of anticipation. _That rage would be a beautiful sight._

"You know what they say, curiosity killed he cat." was his remark. He mouth had tipped up at the side, making his bottom lip look plush and kissable.

"No," Clary looked at him in surprise. She'd never really learned any sayings, any slang. She was home schooled, home-ruled, home-confined. Emphasis on w_as. "_I never knew any of _them _and I never knew that they said things. In fact, I never knew anyone at all." Clary gazed out the windshield with content. This statement was the truth but Clary did't find it upsetting. She'd never really found a use for interaction with many after all her contemplation. And besides, she quite liked riding in cars. Except for the fact that every time Jace reached for the stick-shift his hand would touch her arm, sometimes even her thigh. It was greatly distracting.

Clary'd never felt what she was feeling right now ever before.

Suddenly she felt his gaze warming the side of her face. Clary used a technique she learned from the woman and swung her hair while turning her head, looking at Jace through her eyelashes as if she was abashed, which she most certainly was not. "What?" she asked coyly.

This tone was another technique, this time borrowed from her mother.

It was funny how much Clary borrowed from prostitutes, though she was anything but.

"It's just," Jace started, "You say things normal people would say if they wanted pity, but your tone is almost..._bored_. Flat, even. It's like your shades of right and wrong are divergent from everyone else's. It's...refreshing."

He pulled to a screaming stop causing Clary to slam into the seat belt. She felt an ache almost instantly between her breasts, where the seat belt was placed. It was tingling with dull discomfort that was oddly enjoyable. Almost like when someone can't stop poking at a bruise, because each time a fresh wave of feeling comes you realize that there's actually something you can still feel.

When Jace started to remove the keys from the ignition Clary realized they had stopped for good. She gazed out of the tinted windows at a tall building that seemed to touch the clouds. It was a strong structure, built for both architectural efficiency and design; sleek and silky, but cold with a distant shine. It was so..._modern _with blue-tinted glass windows that stretched up the length of the steel scaffolding and Clary felt a strange mixture brew at the sight of it.

_This is actually happening. _

_You actually left._

There was excitement and jubilation, expectancy and only fear that expectations would not be met. She couldn't help the grin that spread from cheek to cheek.

"Alright," Jace said and Clary tore her gaze from the sight filling her body whole. "This is our stop. Take my jacket," he removed it and Clary flit her eyes away from the slit of abdomen shown at the movement. "And put on a pair of pants from that bag you've got in there," he nodded in the vague direction of the backpack at her feet.

"Why?" She narrowed her eyes. Was he really afraid of being seen with a slum in public? She found herself not taking offense but wondering how he could have such high standards for an assassin.

"Because you look like you were a very late baby that had just been born, never been washed off, then chucked into a slaughter house where you dealt first hand with the carcasses." His smile was sarcastically all sugar and sweetness.

Clary couldn't wipe the small smile off of her face, nor the pucker of her brows. "You are..." she trailed off and found herself just looking at him. It was easy to do that. To get lost in the amber optics of his golden orbs; dripping like honey with a born-sensuality... "Strange." she found herself mumbling the word before she could stop herself. In truth she wanted to tell him he was one of the most beautiful beings she'd ever met.

But then again, she hadn't met a lot of beings.

Especially those of the human kind.

"Well," she cleared her throat. "Am I meeting you inside?" His golden eyes bore into her green ones with amusement.

"Oh, no." He smiled charmingly. "I'm waiting right here. Could't risk you going off a killing someone in public, now could we?"

Clary didn't pick up on the joke and because of this wondered if he really thought she was _that_ idiotic. "That'd be...extremely incompetent of me."

Jace's smirk grew. "Yes, but so was running on the rooftops."

Clary sighed. "The witness would have followed me either way. And in hindsight I wouldn't change my decision. My running on rooftops led me to find you, whom shot my witness, and took me in, at least for a day. It worked out in my favor, in the end, did it not?" She felt a venom drip into her voice, almost like triumph mixed with pride. Because she held good argument.

_He's not responding. There's no witty retort._

_He hasn't belittled you._

_You won._

Clary smiled, she been doing a lot of that in the last hour. She probably contracted it from Jace.

The boy in question cleared his throat and glared at her, "Just get on with dressing, there's no use wasting even more time. Your probably _wanted_ by now, and police are most likely scanning the area for your face."

Clary went to correct him, for this was wrong too, but he quickly cut her off. "Hurry, I don't want to risk being arrested for holding a fugitive."

_So he's a sore loser. That's always good. _

_You should set in him in his place often, it'd be fun._

_...you should set_ them_ in their place..._

Clary let her thoughts drift off as she automatically started to do as told. Unbuttoning her jeans she shimmied from the scratchy denim. It saddened her to see such material go to waste. They were her only pair of jeans, as jean was more expensive, now soiled and needing to be thrown away. Luckily her underwear was spared. She looked over at Jace when she'd slipped the waistband past her ankles and handed him the squishy fabric.

But he wasn't looking at her hands.

And Clary knew he couldn't be admiring her body.

It was the purple and black blotches painting her legs like a canvas; making a pale sheet of unblemished skin look like a thousand pens had exploded and left their ink as scars and names of those that never helped her.

Clary was one large bruise.

She hadn't even realized that she'd gotten used to the pain of living, that it had become her friend until she felt his scrutinization.

And as she slipped on a pair of leggings and Jace's jacket, as she walked up the steps and into the glass building that was her last hope, Clary couldn't help but wonder if that was why her heart was hurting, if every breath she'd breathed was like hitting a bruise.

She couldn't help but wonder if her pain was the thing driving her to want to kill those that caused a portion of that pain. Those that were the cause of her mothers death.

She couldn't help but realize that she didn't care.

Because she was going to kill them, one way or the other.

_And Jace is going to help._

**So, sorry for the wait and the length, it kind of short, but school sucks. **

**I'd love to know favourite parts if anybody has any.**

********Question: Do you think Clary is kind of psychopathic? Because I mean, she already killed two people in the matter of a couple hours. Please tell me if her thoughts get too out of control...**

**Thank you so much for reading, please keep doing so and make my day?  
**

**Lovestory112 **


	5. Chapter 5: All He Did Was Nod

**Disclaimer: No TMI ownership**

**Thanks to reviewers _AnnaW14: _Your response was, and I'm totally not kidding, _beautiful_. I might just have to use that analogy some time, if that's okay with you? _OmegaBanda14: _Once again I couldn't stop smiling. I love that all you guys review to my ending A/N questions. Makes my day. And _LOVERGIRL: _Your encouragement is much appreciated. Every time.  
**

**Keep reviewing, please, it gives me _so_ much inspiration. Haven't edited yet but I will ASAP, needed to get this out there.**

**I _sincerely _hope you enjoy.**

* * *

Clary bit her lip as Jace's long legs mounted the cement steps of the building.

How was she going to convince him to help her murder three men he didn't know?

How was she going to convince him to trust her?

Clary felt her lips curve into a sly smile. She couldn't help the dark thoughts racing through her head as she and Jace made their way over to a registration desk, the woman there fussing with her uniformly ironed collar and straight tie under Jace's expectant gaze.

_You could find a few ways, surely?_

_Maybe ones that involved those strong, capable legs..._

She could faintly hear Jace sighing and remarking about the inapt service, efficiently cutting off Clary's fantasies when the receptionist's incessant babbling responded. "Sir I-I the hotel is not responsible for damaged or misplaced key cards, it's why we supply two in th-the package left in the rooms. And you must know that we have a s-strict policy for those that come in and out of the hotel. We need to see your key card before you're allowed-"

Her high pitched squealing, _she sounded like a goddamned pig with the flu, _was cut off by the humming tones of the male next to Clary. "To gain access, yes, so you've explained quite thoroughly. But I can't exactly go to my room to get my other key card and _gain access _if I'm not allowed access in the first place, _can I? _Lissa," he drawled mockingly. "Where is you're manager, I'd really like to..." Clary found his voice had faded into oblivion. She seemed to be sucked into the swirling darkness lingering in her head.

_Those muscular legs, they'd buck beneath you._

_Oh yes...you could convince him._

_Make him trust you..._

_Fake love if you must...the revenge...would be worth it._

Clary thought about it as the pair before her squabbled. It wouldn't be fair to Jace if she'd do that.

_Life isn't fair._

And he took her in to help her, she couldn't trick him. Or...try to.

_Willingly took you in. And once _they're_ dead who cares? You'd have fulfilled your goal._

_It'd be worth it._

_He's just some diligent, vigilante, assassin. He doesn't mean anything._

_Not to you, not to anyone._

_He said it himself...he works alone. Always on the road. _Use _him._

Clary felt her lips part with the brilliance stuffed into the plan. To make him trust her, make him feel obligated to help her. Of course it'd be morally wrong but she was aloud to make wrong choices now. Then again she didn't know if she _could _do it. The man was an assassin. She couldn't weasel her way into his heart if she tried.

_But you've made it this far._

This was true. Using him...this man that saved her life. Maybe she could...

The same man consuming her thoughts brought her back to reality with a tug on her arm. "Come on Red, let's go." Her green eyes quickly took in the gleaming card in his hand, new and sturdy. Jace's free hand had engulfed her upper arm in a feverish heat, something Clary wasn't accustomed to. Her father's hands had always been cold when he'd touched her, but as they stepped into an awaiting elevator Clary felt herself revel in the relaxation his touch brought. Or maybe it was just touch in general.

"How did you get the key card?" Clary found herself asking, curiosity getting the best of her.

His eyebrows furrowed, skin on his forehead crinkling. "Are you slightly deaf... or blind?"

"I-," she copied his expression for the serious tone in which he remarked this usually sarcastic quip threw her off and she had to replay the question in her mind.. "I am..._not _impaired in..._any _way, shape...or form. I-I was just asking how you'd finally-"

"I _'talked' _to the manager..." he made air quotations around the word "talk".

Clary never really got why her fathers friends had done that, but his tone implied mock. "Are you hinting you did something other than talking with the manager?"

The creases in Jace's forehead were long gone now. "Wow, you really didn't get out much, did you?"

"I got out a lot," Clary spoke forcefully. "I just never really interacted with people too often."

"Yah, Baby Einstein, that's what I was implying." he joked. _Joked. _He _joked_ when just mere minutes ago he was as serious as an owl. A face set in stone.

_Maybe he's bipolar?_

Maybe he's just weird.

_Bipolar would be better than weird._

At least she knew how to act around bipolar. Weird is just a trick of the mind.

Weird was manipulative. She knew because she was strange herself.

The elevator dinged and before Clary could respond Jace pulled her into the hallway. He seemed to be in a rush, pulling her rapidly past walls of doors and scrambling around corners; taking the immaculate carpet with long strides Clary could barely catch up to. They came to a single pale wooden door and Jace quickly swiped his card through a slot before the door clicked and he pushed it open.

Clary had virtually no breath as he shoved her into the room and closed the door with a thud behind them.

She couldn't help her astounded gaze as Jace visibly relaxed into a standing position and chucked off his shoes, the leathery material landing near her splayed form on the ground.

"What, in _bloody hell, _was that about?!" she shrieked. She never really like raising her voice. But she disliked being pushed around even more.

"There are cops living just a few doors down," he replied smugly. "I didn't want them seeing you, it would look pretty bad if they saw me housing a fugitive."

"Oh," she replied mockingly, she couldn't help but push his buttons again. She didn't know why she liked it so much. "But letting the receptionist see me was a smart idea? And, don't you think it looks just a _tad _more suspicious when seen _running _through the halls with a fugitive. It most definitely implies you were trying to hide me, rather _walking _you could pull off as being innocent. When _walking _you could just say you had no idea who I was, thought I was a bum on the streets." she sneered. "And _walking _would have made the bruised, abused girl feel a lot less pained."

She stood up and swallowed her disgust at the comment. She despised acting as if she were wounded by being abused. Abuse was pain. And pain was a feeling merely temporary. In all honesty she did it to try and make him feel bad. She r_eally _disliked being man-handled.

He narrowed his eyes, obviously it didn't work. "Listen, I'm not going to pity you, Little Girl. I don't care if you were killed and then brought back to life by the monster that was your father, but I do not stand for those that strive for attention. And I know you don't either."

She scoffed even though it was true. "Oh, yah, and how do you know that?"

She really had to be more approachable if she were to win Jace over and make him trust her.

_So the plan is final?_

Clary didn't know when she decided to use Jace, but she had.

_Good..._a mental smirk accompanied the caress that was this thought.

"Because just earlier, when you weren't trying to manipulate my feelings,"he replied stepping closer. "You didn't care one stitch about what had happened to you, save the fact that it made you stronger."

Clary wanted to throw up. "Save _me, _now. Spare the bullshit okay, the cliche "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger" line won't work on me. I'm not your average damsel in distress. I was abused, end of story. I am what I am, and I hate the fact that people always say being abused makes you stronger." she was raving now, the words pouring off her lips like the Niagara Falls. "Because it implies that those who were abused wouldn't be that strong had they had a normal life! I _hate _it that people say being _beat day after day, _suddenly turns you into Hercules!" she finished with a rushing exhale.

_Where did that come from?_

Jace just stood there with a smug smirk. "Got you." he said and started to retreat. He brushed past Clary and left her staring at the wall where he once stood, stunned.

_What did he just say?_

_Got you?_

_What in the world does that mean?_

Clary whirled around to confront him and froze.

Stretched across the hardwood floor was a large living room. It seemed to be almost indented as two stairs led down to the soft black carpet splayed there. Red couches lounged plush and primp, stylish curtains hung the length of the very grand back wall. To Clary's left was a staircase leading into a loft hovering above the kitchen, the only part in which Clary could see were the cabinets; an island was blocking her view. And on the far right wall was a single door, the rest of the drywall held beautiful tapestries. The living room itself was ten times the size of Clary's old house.

Clary was snapped out of her trance when Jace came back into sight, hopping over the kitchen's island with a can in hand. It triggered her brain to start functioning as she moved fast towards him. "What do you mean, got you?" she snapped.

His golden orbs shone like twin suns; bursting with amusement and something Clary felt shock her to her core, but couldn't quite identify. "I mean, I got you. Got you to leave that act behind. You really aren't that docile are you?" He cocked his head. "Would you like a tour of the house?"

He started to walk off again and Clary shook her head, even though he could barely see it. "No. No I-I don't want a tour. What do mean-" Clary grabbed his arm as he past her and instantly regretted it. He pushed her hard against the nearby wall, her back forced stiff and straight, her legs intertwined with his, Jace's arm at her throat.

"I really _don't _like being touched unexpectedly, Red" his whisper was gravelly and right in her ear, and the warmth of his body made something in her stomach jump and quiver. The dim lighting in his apartment didn't help either. It just made him feel closer, so much closer, than he actually was. She sucked in a breath and tried to push away the foreign feeling crawling through her throat, her legs, her chest.

"Well," she tried to feign bravado but her knees felt weak and her hands itched to run across his skin. _What? They want to what? _"I quite like being touched, especially unexpectedly."

He pressed himself closer to her body and Clary could feel his free hand snake down to her waist, making heat flare across her abdomen. He chuckled, his voice raspy with..._something. _It was almost the same way her fathers friends would talk to her mother.

There was something about them she needed to remember, but for once her mind was quiet.

_Oh god, screw it. Forget them for right now and screw _him.

Not quiet then. But a muted turmoil.

"Was that an innuendo?" He asked and Clary didn't exactly know what an innuendo was but she knew it had to be something sexual so all she did was imitate the alluring tones of her mother and whisper, "Do you want it to be?"

Her lips were by his ear as well, and the feeling of his earlobe brushing against them made her bite down on her tongue.

_You should be biting down on his earlobe..._

Attraction could help gain trust.

_Attraction could help gain a lot of things. Experience, relaxation, a..._

She wanted her mind to shut down. Her body knew how to react without her even thinking about it. And when she _did_ bite down on his soft flesh she thanked her body for all it had done. His shudder brought him even closer to her and Clary couldn't help but wonder what exactly it was crawling throughout her body at this moment. It wasn't like anything she'd ever experienced before. She couldn't help but ponder what he'd done to her.

"Maybe," he replied. She didn't even know what she'd asked him, so she asked him something else, not wanting him to move away.

"Why don't you like being touched?" Her voice was as breathy as his was on her neck. The skin there seemed overheated and when his soft lips brushed just so ever lightly across it, she felt it tingle.

"Why do you _like _being touched?" She felt the words more than she heard them. All she could hear was the blood pounding in her ears.

"Maybe because it's interaction. I've never really been close to anyone before." She was surprised at how truthful the answer was.

"I think that's the reason why I hate it."

"Mmmmhmmm" she murmured and licked her lips, closing her eyes. "Are you going to kiss me?"

Suddenly the warmth left her and she was ice cold. It was the wrong thing to say.

She was so stupid.

_Smart. You are smart. _

Her eyes peeled open and Jace looked at her expecting..._something. _

_He wants you to be hurt._

_Because he pulled away. _

But it didn't hurt, because Clary knew he didn't pull away due to lack of attraction. Clary knew he was attracted her, knew he _wanted _to kiss her. The flush on his cheekbones told her as much. He had problems too. And Clary knew how people could act when dealing with problems.

So all she did was smirk, conceited. And all she said was "How about that tour?"

And all he did was nod.

**Please review, pretty please. Can I get to 21? **

**Anyways sorry if this chapter was a little jumpy but my thoughts were kind of everywhere as I was writing this. Major point of this chapter, Clary's plan is finalized. **

**Question: What do you think of Clary tricking Jace into trusting her? Is it going to backfire, is it going to _work? _**

**ALSO, I haven't ever written a lemon before but i was thinking of some pretty intense Clace scenes, which I am pumped to write, what would interest you guys?**

**Lovestory112, please keep reading (:**


	6. Chapter 6: Complicated

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

**Thanks to my ever so loyal reviewers: _AnnaW14, _I love your adjective choice. 'Heavenly' made me laugh. _Taylor, _Thank you very much! _OmegaBanda14,_****as always I love your reviews._LOVERGIRL, _I love the encouragement-as always- and when people reply to my A/N questions, and ,I know it took forever but school has been kicking me continuously in the butt. On the other hand your review made me smile.**

**I hope you enjoy- sincerely.**

* * *

_He stood in front of her, white hair a pale glimmer like the frost clinging to their small window by the fire escape. Clary's braid felt as if it had strapped itself to the back of her neck, grasping at the skin and sticking with all its might to her pale slender throat. Shines of moisture plastered her cheeks as she sobbed, trying to hold back her screams of agony. Fine carroty-red hair was pasted against her forehead as well, blood-drained skin standing contrast to the untamed strands. Her freckles were golden blotches stark and outlined as he glared at her wallowing mess._

_Her father didn't care for tears._

_"What are you doing in my room?" he asked harshly. He never sounded soft. Clary faintly wanted to snap back a smart reply, something along the lines of 'because this is my house too' but the thought itself made her wince with fear. _

_"I-I-I heard a __b-bang-g," she sobbed hysterically."S-so I went to go check what i-it was" she let out a drowning hiccup. "And sh-she w-was on the f-f-flo-oor." Clary was heaving now. The sight of her mother was riveting, and grotesque, and gruesome. Her body had been sprawled across the tiles of the bathroom in a way that bones never did when alive and moving. Her hair was a dull rouge and a lot darker than it was before, the pale sheet of her face making it seem like blood. But then again, the blood pooling around her could have soaked into her hair, not just her clothes. Her right temple was a gaping hole, filling with the red essence that was once her life and spewing it out. Stringy tendons and blackened red seemed to infest the edges, chunks of meat and gooping muscle decorated the room._

_She wanted to throw up thinking about it._

_She cried instead._

_"Sh-she had a gun in her hand Daddy! I-I-I think she d-did it to herse-el-lf!" Clary collapsed on the floor as her fathers face slackened._

_"No,"he whispered. "No!" He erupted from the desk he was sitting on, his face now thoroughly animated with betrayal, anger, and a knowing sadness as he ran from the room. Clary heard doors slamming, her heart slamming just as loud against her chest. She couldn't stop crying, the tears were flowing freely, her head aching with realization. Her mother was gone-and judging by the expression on her fathers face, she did it because of him. And he knew it was coming. _

_Her mother killed herself because she wasn't anyone anymore. Long ago they had lost Jocelyn, and her father seemed to like his slave better anyways._

_And it was not only her father but all the men that had taken her into that room and done those dirty things to her._

_Clary would kill him, them, for what they did._

_In that moment she could kill the world._

_Her father ran back into the room, grabbing her and pulling her up by the braid that no longer stuck to her neck. Clary couldn't help her screech of pain as he yanked on her roots. Daddy's eyes were livid, his face red. Daddy could kill the world too. "What. Did. YOU. DO!" he screamed. Tears ran down his crumpling face. "Why did you make me look. Why did you make me see?!"The rage sparkled in his black irises. "Why!?"_

_The moment when he dragged her body through the door frame and across the living room was the longest time of her life; kicking and struggles did nothing to stop his pursuit. When her father tried to push her into their only bathroom she twisted to face him. She couldn't see the body. Not now. She'd go insane._

_He pushed her and Clary felt desperation claw at her throat, her stomach. She grasped the edges of the door frame and dug in with her fingernails, leaving shredding of wood in her nails, scratches in the dirty white paint. A backhand across her face made her death-grip release, and she stumbled back. _

_"Clean_ that...thing..._up_."_ he said and stared at the body beside her with glassy detached eyes. And then, to Clary's greatest fear, he closed the door, a click signalling the lock._

_She slowly turned around. Facing the bloody mess that she had hugged, and kissed. The mixture of death and pain that was her savior clawing tears into her throat and ripping through her heart. It was pain...so much pain..._

* * *

Clary woke up with a start, swinging into a sitting position, fresh aching in her tormented mind. She was shivering, she realized blatantly. Clammy sweat covered her collar bones and the inside of her bare kneecaps, dampening her long fiery hair and forehead. The too-big shirt she had on was heavy on her shoulders and sticking to her back, as cold as her skin. She wrapped her arms around herself and tried to forget the pain. The nightmare was not just a nightmare, it was a memory. Clary was always hit with them in the middle of the night. And it was this one that made her put her plan in action- she needed justice as quick as she could get it. For her mother, but also for herself.

Suddenly Clary was acutely aware of where exactly she was.

Because their was no hard floor beneath her, but a soft down of slightly dampened comforters. She wiggled her toes, and yes, they were hidden beneath the silky black covers surrounding her. Clary wondered if this was a dream, but when the sound of an igniting furnace blew a gust of hot air over her body Clary remembered the most important part of her plan.

"Jace"

Even his name was beautiful.

And his room was just as so. The bed frame was a mahogany carved masterpiece, red velvet curtains hiding the outside world and a small lamp washing dim golden light across the dark wash wooden floors. As Clary laid back down and unfolded her arms into the surrounding blanket she imagined him sleeping in this exact bed. His head would have rested where hers was now, his lean muscles molding the mattress into his shape, these very blankets covered in his scent as he slept. With that thought Clary brought them to her nose and with glee found it did smell distinctly male. She smiled as she realized she didn't have to fake the attraction to Jace.

_Just make him trust you. _

_Nothing else Clarissa._

She ran the blanket over her legs, her torso, hugging it across her chest, imagining it was him.

_What if he slept naked..._

Her mind was bipolar. With the variations of her thoughts, it had to be. But the thought made her shiver. If he slept naked then his muscles would have been touching these blankets, his body would have been directly on those sheets. She let out a breath and turned stomach down. Swallowing hard she closed her eyes. He'd have been beneath her, his body, his- a knock on the door stopped her train of thought, and she didn't know whether she was happy or disappointed.

"Are you descent?" he asked before opening the door.

Clary turned so her back was on the mattress and drew the blankets up high, a scowl screwing into her face. She was only wearing a large button up shirt and her underwear. So, she was not, in fact, descent.

But he came in anyways, as if it was a rhetorical question.

"Excuse _me," _she started. "But I am _not 'descent' _and you should at least wait for a reply to the question _you _asked before barging into the room and disrupting the person whom you asked!" He let out an exasperated breath before walking towards the curtains.

"It was more of a warning than a question." he wittily replied and drew open the folds of fabric. Behind them was not the morning dawn Clary expected but the settling dusk. Stripes of rouge, apricot, and lilac streaked the lower sky, a navy haze enveloping the higher air. Clary let the blankets drop from her chest with shock at his perpetual flippancy. Could he not take being in the wrong? Was failure really that scary to him?

"Well then," she replied with unintended animosity. "You shouldn't have voiced it like a question then."

He turned with a smirk, the outside light igniting his eyes into amber fire. "And how would you like me to voice my warnings." She didn't know if it was meant to sound seductive-it surely wasn't an innuendo- but his voice must have just been naturally husky.

"Like a warning. Some things aren't meant to be complicated, some things don't always have to have hidden meanings." She glared. She shouldn't be pushing her luck with him, shouldn't be _trying _to annoy him, but he seemed to like it. And so she didn't stop herself.

"But most things do don't they?" he tilted his head and with a swish of his body started to walk away, intending to have the last words. But she stood up when she said simply, "No"

He stopped in his tracks. "What?"

"It wasn't a _complicated_ answer." She started to walk towards him, not stopping until her body was close enough to his that she felt the heat radiating from him like a sauna. "Most things are simple." She fixed her eyes on his back as the words flew out. His shoulder blades left a loose part in his other wise tight black shirt. "Love, lust," she listed slowly. "Money, jealousy, sex," she couldn't help but place her hand on that spot, her palm sinking until it reached his vertebrae. "Hatred" she all but whispered. "They're all simple things that people mistake for complicated."

She could feel him swallow. "Then what _is _complicated, Gandhi? Please _enlighten_ me." She could practically feel the sarcasm weighing down that sentence.

_What in the world is a Gandhi?_

"Pain." She paused after the word as his muscles relaxed. She didn't even know how tense they were before they were pliable beneath her hand. "Death. Sadness."

His chuckle ran through her arm. "Maybe those are just the thing _you _don't understand." he said.

"Maybe," she smiled. "But if so, you don't understand them either."

He turned to face her and she could read the inner turmoil in his features. "I understand pain and death and sadness more than anyone, Little Girl."

"You haven't met me yet," Her smile widened.

The connection between them died before she could grasp at it. "That's for sure. What's _your _name? I've told you mine, I think I have a right to know."

Clary bit her lip. She didn't really want him to know her name. She could somehow foresee her going weak in the knees had his lips somehow captured it. So she changed the subject. "Why'd you come in here?"

He snorted. "It's _my _room. Jace's. Now what would it be called had it been _your _room?"_  
_

"Seriously, why? Did you need me to leave? Because...well...I was wondering-" she was cut off.

"No."

"I didn't even finish my sentence?!" she was dumbfounded. She _needed _his help.

He arched an eyebrow. "You wanted to stay here. With me. As my partner or something along the lines of all that bullsh-" Clary cut him off this time.

"Actually, I was wondering if you could just help me...I don't know..._train ,_I guess would be the proper verb-" It was like they were having a competition to see who could cut each other off more.

"You want me to _train _you?!" His eyes widened and he laughed hysterically while falling back against the door. When his laughter died down he just looked at her through his lowered lashes.

She sighed, defeated. "I want to know how to kill somebody." Clary pressed her lips together before flitting her eyes away.

His silence prompted her eyes to search for his again. He was just staring at her. "Why?" he whispered hoarsely.

She chuckled humorlessly before responding. "Because revenge is complicated."

He shook his head as he regarded her, his answer shining in his eyes. "Well, so is trust."

**Pretty Please Review?**

**Sorry this took so long- and the content doesn't really compensate for it- but until school is almost over, so late May and June, expect irregular updates, sorry.**

**Question: What do you think their first training session will be like? And did you expect the whole suicide thing, it wasn't supposed to be a surprise but...**

**On another note, I reread the story and I'm going to fix a few things. Mistakes and the whole lot. Sorry about those.**

**Follow, favourite, review, thanks to all those that have done so, or please just keep reading, Lovestory112. **


	7. Chapter 7:Nichi

**Disclaimer: this is the last time I will ever write one of these godforsaken - ha, somehow I find it wrong god and forsaken co-exist in the same sentence- I will ever write one of these things. The characters belong to Cassandra Clare. That means the whole lot of them. Their words though, they belong to me. **

**Nichi does too. **

**You will meet him in this chapter.**

**Thanks to reviewers: ****_LOVERGIRL, _****I love that you love this. Because I kinda love writing it. ****_RitzaHerondale, _****I like them as murderers as well. And of course ****_AnnaW14, _****Your insight forever helps me and my writing. Thanks.**

**Haven't editited yet but WHATEVER- Enjoy-****_sincerely_**

* * *

"Trust," Clary found herself murmuring as Jace stepped away and opened the door. "Now trust I agree is complicated." She followed him into the upstairs hallway. All the rooms were hovering in the loft Clary'd seen earlier and as they descended the stairs to the dimly-lit living room Clary couldn't help but pause at the view of the sunset before her.

"So, Red," Jace looked back at her but still walked in a straight line showing unimaginable grace. "What's your story?"

"My story?" she asked incredulously. Just a minute ago he didn't want her in his house, now he wanted her _story?_

He chuckled, the sound nipping at her nerves, sending tingles down her legs and up her arms, pooling somewhere within her. "Why do you want to kill people?" he restated.

"Shouldn't you be asking _who _it is I want to kill?" She fired back, answering a question with another. He did this often, she noticed, but she'd also noticed he hated it when she did so. She abruptly decided she liked making him mad.

He smirked, the chuckle from earlier lingering beneath his golden irises, like it was a caged dove. "I was trying to ease into the subject, Sparky, make you more comfortable." His tone implied this was not at all his intentions. "But now that we're on topic, who is it that you would like to _viciously_ murder."

"No one anybody important would miss." the memories of what they did to her mother seeped into her words, giving it a spiteful bite. And her glare would burn a whole through the living room floor if it could.

"Vague answers bother me." he announced, as if she needed him to tell her. She smiled deviously, a smirk smothering her grin.

"That's why I give them."

He paused without turning back and looking at her, his hand on the doorknob of the only door Clary had seen downstairs. He was tensed with a high-strung vibe, and his breathing was deep and rough. She didn't know what she did to him, but she knew that she enjoyed seeing him so flustered.

_Stick to the plan, Clarissa._

_Learn...but tempt._

_The perfect combination._

This would have to be the temptation part of the lesson, if it was even happening now, Clary truthfully had no idea where he was taking her and she liked the mystery. She placed a feather-light touch of her hand on his back, where it had been before. She liked the feeling of his ratcheting spine, hitching with his breaths. She liked how this soft spot between his shoulder blades told her everything.

"Are you all right?" her voice sounded sweet and high to her ears, almost like a flute. She never knew she could talk like that. "Your breathing seems to have sped up."

Jace whirled around, a flash of meshed colours and blurs of hair and nose and eyes. He backed up a little further, so she didn't come in contact with him. "How much did you _actually _get out?" His eyes were searching and wide. She'd have said he looked confused had she not known his cool manor. "Any schooling? Friends, boyfriends?"

She settled back on her heels, not noticing her perch on her toes until it was gone. "No. I was almost always home. I'd leave to get my F-_him _food, and to go and return from the liquor store."

"That's it?" He inquired.

She nodded. "That is _it." _For a minute only silence was past between the unlikely pair, gold intertwining with green as he looked for something in her eyes. He was always seeking something, Clary realized.

_Then let him find whatever he's looking for._

_Make him think it's _you.

_That would be trust in its purity. _

But what _was _he looking for? That was the _real _question. "Are you training me or not?" she asked, as he had not made a move to direct her anywhere, and he had not actually answered her in the bedroom

_For someone who hates vague answers he sure gave them a lot._

Jace seemed to snap from his haze. "Uh- yah, yah. It's just in here, the training room. C'mon." He opened the door and Clary stepped forward into what could only be the start of her future.

* * *

Now why did her future always have to be so goddamned dingy.

Blue mats were piled in corners hazardously, a dull light bulb hung from a string in the ceiling. A few punching bags were hanging from wires along the far wall, a target standing beside them and a cut dummy skewered with a metal pole was loosing its innards all over the rough concrete floor. In the middle of the small confined room was a large carpet, looking almost sponge-like. Clary grimaced.

"I thought someone who owned a pent-house would be able to afford...ah...more _efficient...reliable _equipment." she warily eyed a seemingly bent dagger, the metal conformed into a twist and the dummy beside it resembling a shaved then slaughtered sheep, wool spilling from its barely connected throat.

Jace scowled, the only sign of his embarrassment was the sheepish rub on the back of his neck. "Listen- I'm being gracious enough to train you-" she cut him off.

"Not to mention you _are _a highly qualified assassin." she continued to complain.

He carried on as if she never spoke. "And I practice my skills mostly at the Lightwood's compound anyways, so show a little respect, all right?" He paused as the door slammed shut and encased them in the dismal space. The air was yellow with florescent light. "And I'm _not _an assassin!"

"_Right_," Clary gingerly stepped into the room, trying to take in her surrounding best she could. "No, you just kill people and make money doing it."

"I'm a- a... _paid _vigilante!" He walked over to a length roped that had snaked its way around the rafters hanging just above Clary's highest jumping height. When he reached the curl Jace tugged and the coil fell down to the ground with a thud. At her skeptical look he reprimanded himself. "Okay...so a _highly paid, violent..._liquidator?"

Clary didn't even decide to when suddenly her laugh filled the dusty air. She hadn't laughed-_really _laughed- in so long that the sound was foreign to her. The thought almost brought tears to her eyes, that her life was so depressing she didn't recognise her _laugh. _That was something people were recognised for. Their laugh. Their smile. Without those things-what was she.

Nobody?

Her heart twisted in a painful ache.

"Right, right," she replied sarcastically in attempt to hide her sadness. "So highly paid liquidators own penthouses?"

Jace smirked as he walked up to her. This was not the harsh man that spoke to her for the last day or two- how long had it been since she first met him? He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans before retorting. "You forgot the violent part- and this isn't the penthouse dear. I _don't _want to attract attention,_highly paid violent liquidators _don't usually brag about their riches. Buying a penthouse would be doing just that." He smiled a huge, bar-fighter's grin. A joking boyish, sexy rugged one. "That's your _first_ lesson of assassin-try."

She couldn't help the smile overcoming her lips, his truly was contagious. "Is that even a word?"

He shrugged and placed delicate hands on her shoulders. "_Who cares?" _was his whisper before pulling her towards the center of the room. Just before they reached the mat Jace stopped. "Wait," his arm shot out to stop her movement. He whistled and Clary could help but find that the way he pursed his lips was sexy- _very _sexy.

She was so focused on his lips that she screeched when a cat trotted onto the mat. Jace smiled faintly. "This is Nichi. He is a cat."

"So I see," Clary's lip curled in disgust. She hated cats. Her father once brought one home- a stray- and it had attacked her relentlessly, a scar from its claws still marking her knee.

Nichi waltzed over, strutting like a model, stuck up and snobby like most pampered cats are. It had these big blue eyes and beige hair, black around its eyes in circles resembling the likes of a raccoon. It was extremely furry and fat, fat, fat. He stopped before Clarissa, her pale toes almost brushing his paws, when it looked up and she swore it stared directly into her eyes. Clary felt her head rear back as the cat tensed then yet out a little cry, not a yowl, but a cry. She swore it would attack her. It had to. Cats always did- god she _hated _cats.

And then it turned belly up and stuck all four legs in the air.

Clary just stared dumbfounded.

It stared back. Its tongue darted out and slid up its nose popping back into its mouth.

"Wha-?" she breathed before Jace picked Nichi up and threw him out the door.

She let out a sound of disgust. "Ugh," she almost gagged. "I hate, hate, _hate, _like exceedingly _detest, _cats!"

She watched as Jace tensed and his face hardened into the one he'd had on before entering the room. The mysterious, sexy, hard-lined, planes and angles, profile guy with the cocky eyes and pirate smile.

_Great job Clarissa._

_You insulted his cat!_

_What a way to appeal to his interests!_

And as Jace motioned for them to begin she realized she hadn't even noticed that just for a minute there, he was real. Almost happy. Normal.

And so was she.

* * *

Sweat poured by the bucket-load down her forehead as yet another dagger clattered to the floor underneath the target, having already completed the seeming routine of hitting the wooden target and bouncing off. Her hair- which had been knotted behind her head in haste was falling apart, strands attaching themselves to her temples like leeches. She let out an exasperated breath.

Why wouldn't it just _stick!_

In anger Clary cranked her arm back, having replaced the knife with another, and hammered the blasted thing towards the wall blindly in rage. It flew in violent circles, blade over handle, until-of course- it missed the target completely. Seeing as the backboard in which the target was nailed to was the wall, the knife hurdled towards it and lodged its infinitesimal tip into the surface, before clattering down noisily and bringing a chunk of the wall with it.

A chunk of the _concrete _wall.

She blew a piece of straggly hair from her eyes as Jace clapped slow and mocking behind her, his voice appearing like a disembodied spirit's. "Now if you could _actually hit _your enemy's you would quite literally cut straight through their hearts."

Clary relaxed enough to turn and glare at her new-found tough-love trainer. She watched as he unlatched himself from where he was formerly lounging against the wall, and began to stroll lethargically over.

Seriously. _Lounging _against a _wall! _It wasn't fair: the things this man could do with his body.

Clary _quite literally- _for lack of better words- wanted to see exactly what he could do.

She wanted to see it happening to her.

_Concentrate..._the thought lagged with her sense of rationality.

"Here" Clary found herself pulling out of her mind for the umpteenth time in the last hour, the fantasies in her head just too tempting to resist. She really did try to pay attention but she was too attracted to the godly being before her. That's what this had to be. Attraction. Every move he made sent shivers or tingles to strange places, all coiling back 'round to pool in a place Clary didn't know she had, deep within her.

And what was more distracting than being sweaty in a small room with a Commanding Sexy And Slightly Dangerous Assassin Jace.

When he moved closer, until their was centimeters-no mere millimeters between them- Clary knew.

It was being in close _proximity _to a Commanding Sexy And Slightly Dangerous Assassin Jace while being sweaty. That was ten times worse. And so many times better.

"You have to clench your muscles," he started with instructions again. Clary moved into her offensive position and bunched the muscles in her legs together, but it was extremely uncomfortable when Jace was that close. And he moved even closer. Snaking his arm around her waist she felt his left hand radiating heat against her abdomen, but the inferno it set off when placed against her body was nothing to compare. She shivered, almost shuddered, and didn't even pretend to hope that Jace hadn't felt it.

In fact, she thought he might have like it.

"Keep your core tight," his whisper was breathy in her ear and it was all she could hear past the thundering silence that seemed to encase them. It was as if the world around them was asleep. As if it was gone entirely. His other hand stretched upward and Clary thought he was going to adjust her grip on the knife, but instead it sprawled across her collar bones. His small, baby finger landed just slightly brushing against the swell of her chest, something that made her breathing accelerate and the blood gush through her ears. His breath was deep and rough in her ear- this contact so new yet so old to her. "Keep your torso straight and flat. Shoulders pushed back, sturdy."

She did this and his hand slipped a little farther down her chest, ring finger where his pinky once was.

_Why does that seem so intimate? Why is this so stimulating._

"Back straight," his voice was so gravelly that she had to close her eyes just to regain focus. She straightened her back and heard his voice hitch as his hand slipped even lower. "Ke-ep your core tight. Sturdiness is key." She could feel his warmth just teasing her back and smelt the mint on his breath. It made her press back unconsciously, earning a shudder and a muffled groan. She felt Jace's perfect Adam's Apple bob against her hair as he arc his head enough to see the target. This movement made his hand slip further down her waist, dipping just under the waist-band of her newly acquired leggings. "Tight...tight is good." he whispered low and seductively in her ear.

Clary didn't know enough about sex to determine the innuendo but she couldn't take it anymore. With a sharp breath she released the tension built up inside her by swinging her arm forwards and releasing the dagger with a vigorous whip.

She didn't even look to see where it was her knife landed in the target before turning to face the man driving her to her breaking point. He was so close to her, so _unbearably close,_ and she bowed her head just slightly so she could take in the scent of his cologne, the sturdiness of his chest.

_Sturdiness is key..._

Jace let out an amazed breath. "You hit it directly in the middle, Red," she looked up at him and found him watching the target, a look of indifference plastered against his face. If it wasn't for his erratic heartbeat she would have actually felt rejected.

_Focus..._the thought seemed to taper like the last- overshadowed by lust.

Clary gazed at him as he slowly gave in and lowered his eyes as well. She wasn't _that _much shorter than him. Almost a perfect amount. Her nose was at his lips. Those smooth, plush lips tilted at just the right angle and filled perfectly. Just the right size to fit softly against her own. Clary had never kissed anyone before but she'd watched it thousands of times and it didn't seem that hard. Just a tilt upwards and a silky...press...to his...

A shrill sound cut off her thought and the pair broke away form each other as if broken from a trance, Clary stumbling just slightly.

"Damn technology" she muttered beneath her breath as Jace ran off to find his phone- the cause of the shrieking, jingling alarm. She heard his faint murmuring filtering beneath the door. The old training room felt so big with the absence of Jace now that he wasn't there anymore.

_His ego must have taken up half of it._

She caught a few words still. "Job...not now...guest...that much...Carlin. But he was su...wasn't Alec goin... Alright! Fine! I'm coming." The last part was louder, meaning he was returning and Jace burst through the door, hair ruffled and hastily pulling a jacket on. "Hurry, Red, you're coming with me." He winked slyly at her.

"Let's put those new skills to use."

**So, so, so sorry if this was boring.**

**Tell me if you liked the fluff-or should this stay away from the fluffy banter.I mean this Jace is supposed to be dangerous & sexy right? Idk...please tell me :S I was aiming for a softer side too...**

**So Question: What do you think the cat will have to do with the story? Nichi is not just some random cat. He has a part.**

**Thanks for reading, following, favouriting. I was wondering if we could get 5 reviews because that's been like the average, but I know you guys are awesome and whoever is reading is amazing anyways.**

**Thanks!Lovestory112.**


	8. Chapter 8: More Like A Mosh Pit

**Hey! I am so so so sorry for the wait- i had a couple of _really busy _weeks at school.  
**

**Just to clear something that might not have been clear- thanks to _AnnaW14- _No, Clary had not been raped. She was not in the same situation as her mother but as mentioned just briefly before he _tried _to put her there. Tried. I see how that could be confusing and I'll try to incorporate that into the story more as well. **

**SHOUTOUTS: _OmegaBanda14: _The respect is duly noted. Those felines are quite the sneaky devil's. I 100% agree with that respect. _Harpreet Judge: _Does the name mean anything? I was just wondering what a Harpreet was- and i was dying with laughter from your review. Loved it. _ from Ravenclaw: _Thank you so much- compliments mean the world and warm my heart every time I read them. _AnnaW14-_again, sorry for the confusion but Clary IS inexperienced in sex, and finally _LOVERGIRL: _Please keep up your awesome reviews. They really do encourage writing.  
**

**Keep being the a-m-a-zing people you are and give me some feedback. Or just read this. I ****  
**

* * *

Clary hadn't necessarily registered what the god-like man had said before Jace pulled her out the front door and ushered her hunkered form down the hallway. It was done hastily- but not _violently _this time- and through the gleaming lobby Clary watched as things past in a luminescent blur. Her brain started to function only when she stepped into the silken night air- the sun having set during their training session.

She took a deep breath and felt it light up her mind. Clary embraced the searing fluidity of sweet-heavy air running through her veins, pumping her heart in feather-light resounding beats, and bulging her lungs to their fullest extent; stretching delicate bone and skin like lace. Looking down Clary saw that she was wearing only that too-big button up shirt and leggings.

Leggings Jace's hands had been almost slipping under.

_Leggings he could be taking off._

Clary heaved a sigh as Jace pushed her into his vehicle, the valet parking having brought it forward to the sidewalk at his arrival. She sank gratefully into the hugging leather chair and tried to settle her roiling mind.

But how could she be settled after being touched...or...almost touched.

It was just so new. So..._exhilarating. __  
_

Because, you see, Clary was a virgin.

In basically every _physical _way.

Though when her mother died her Father had done everything and anything to make Clary become one of his whores, she did not budge on the fact that she would never be one. She knew the fate it held. And not surprisingly her Father kept pushing and pushing. The only time she'd be touched...intimately...was the day her father tried tricking her into having sex with his friend. She'd been 12 and laying silently in her room...

_There was a sudden flash of light as the door creaked open, a hush following the tell-tale sign of entry. Clary pulled the covers up to her chest as if a millimeter of cotton would shield her from an ax murderer's...well...ax._

She could still hear the echoes of his footsteps, but that night the only slightly disturbed silence had rung infinitely in her ears, only subsided by her terrified thoughts.

_Maybe if she pretended to be asleep, it would leave._

She could still see his looming shadow, lurking against the floor and bouncing off the wall as he walked in.

_"Clarissa," the whisper had scratched across her skin. She knew this voice. This was the man that frequented their house in nightly visits to her mother. It was like he had been as addicted to her as Clary's father was to cocaine. "Your father sent me here, now that your mother is gone. He said...that you could help me" it was a smokers voice. It was deep. It was...horrifyingly persuasive._

_See, Clary loved helping people, it made her forget that no one had ever helped her. So she couldn't resist an answering whisper..."With what?"_

_His eyes had been black, black, black- like a demon's, and his hair was almost as white as her father's in the light. It was faintly outlined, like a halo, as if he were an angel. Clary knew he wasn't. But she couldn't stop the curiosity rooting her in spot as he leaned in, maybe he'd tell her what her mother had been doing for years? Maybe..._

_"Help me Clarissa. Help me..."_

When his lips enclosed on hers she felt...icky. Ashamed. She was old enough to realize that this was what her mother had been doing all along. She was old enough to realize that her father was making Jocelyn, getting paid for it. She was old enough to realize he wanted her to do it too. At that moment the puzzle pieces had clicked together- and the image they made was so disgusting Clary had smashed those pieces to bits. But somehow-they'd mended back together.

Clary snorted and was pulled from her memories as Jace screeched around a corner, making some curious bystanders turn their heads.

"I thought you _highly paid violent liquidators _didn't like to draw attention." She swallowed back her depression at the unwanted resurfacing scene, a twist clenching her heart like it was a pulled muscle worn too much for any use whatsoever. Sarcasm was the best way to lighten her mood, but the building pressure within her chest rose like up-chuck in her throat once again. She needed the night to calm her. She was a junkie and she needed her fix. She needed to release some tension.

She needed to kill.

"Yah, well, right now I'm in a _small _predicament." Jace replied, eyes fixed on the road as he hazardously drifted around a lamppost-lit corner. Clary could practically _hear _the skid-marks being marked upon the street."And I need to arrive at my destination before midnight."

Clary narrowed her brow and glanced at the clock illuminated on the modernized dashboard. It read 11:53 pm. "But that's only 7 minutes away."

Jace cranked the steering wheel hard and Clary slammed against the window as they fishtailed through a stoplight. "Exactly," Jace whispered low. "Hold on tight."

His eyes were dark and wild, the way she'd grown to like them.

* * *

Clary was panting as she un-clenched her hand from its death grip on the door. In the darkness she could only see the pulsing lights of a party in a classy mansion that was in the middle of nowhere. Jace opened the door and beats of booming music assulted her ears. The house was situated atop a hill with a long winding driveway curling through the grass. Jace pulled to a choppy stop in front of open wrought iron gates before grabbing her by the collar of her shirt. He pulled her close to him, across the stick-shift and onto his lap, and for a second as she straddled his very capable legs and felt his muscles twitch beneath her own, her heart beat with anticipation of finishing what they started. He looked deep into her eyes and she felt the cool press of metal against the skin of her hip. Looking down Clary watched as he holstered a pistol in the waistband of her leggings. They were still just a hairsbreadth away when she whispered, "Isn't that dangerous."

He looked up through lowered lashes and just gazed silently, almost provocatively at her. She was almost certain that he was going to kiss her- like in one of those action/romances she'd loved to read. He'd lean in slowly and leave her dazed with a mind-blowing, orgasmic kiss that'd leave her just wanting more before pulling away and going to participate in some good-ole shoot em up.

But he just threw pushed her out the door before him, tugging her along the path up to the house.

The red-head swallowed another wave of disappointment.

"Why didn't you just pull into the driveway? Right up to the house?" Clary found herself almost yelling as they came closer to the entrance. "I mean that's why they're _called _drivewa-" Her sentence hitched as she tripped over a beer bottle rolling down the incline of the hill, fetching up against the grass behind her. Now, in an action/romance novel, the fetching young man would wrap his hands around the distressed woman and crush her to his chest. But all Jace did was pull her arm as she stumbled off the ground-cold air hitting her knee because of a gaping rip.

"Because my _car _will give me away." He gave her a patronizing look. "That's my _getaway_ car. Everybody attending this party knows that."

She narrowed her eyes incredulously. "You have _more _than one car?" He paused to chuckle as he opened the door, a swell of music corrupting the silence that had been shrouded along with the dusk. He looked sideways at her and his next words were in a yell.

"Red, _most people _have more than one car."

_No they don't._

_Most people live in poverty, they wouldn't even _own_ a car._

_Stuck up, arrogant, cocky, self-righteous..._

Jace grabbed her hand as he strolled carelessly through the crowd, pushing people aside and nudge his elbows out to create a path for them. As he spotted whom he was looking for he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, pulling at it nervously. Wow.

_Sexy, kissable, a rated R kind of smile..._

Clary felt her eyelids lower slightly, hooding the green.

Her eyes were focused solely on his lips until they were finally released from his pearly whites, thus releasing her from her trance. She did a double-take after seeing who, or more _what _was standing before her.

The man and woman were not human, but beautiful otherworldly creatures. Okay- so they _were _human, just inhumanly attractive. Both with the same swooped nose and perfectly rump lips, a thin coat of inky black hair layering their scalps. The girl's reached to her barely covered waist, where a split in her beat-red dress showed off a perfectly toned stomach, and a neckline revealed a busty chest with flawless skin. The man was not solemn, though it seemed so, but concentrated- as if he were on a mission. His toned body was clad in leather and jean, all black, all hugging tight muscle. He might have given Jace a run for his money had he not been glaring at her.

"Who is this?" he basically screamed in a loud, booming voice. Clary could tell it wasn't just because of the noisy party bustling around her.

Clary snickered at the narrowing of Jace's brows. "That's what I've been trying to find out." he mumbled, only loud enough for her to hear.

"What?" the man shouted over the music.

Clary intervened. "Call me Red!"

The woman's eyes widened. "Jace," she looked accusingly in his direction while keeping one on her. "You brought a _prostitute _with you! Is that the "guest" you were talking about when I called!" she made air quotations around the word guest with her graceful fingers."You can't just _do _that!"

Her mind growled venomously at the girl.

_How dare she?!_

_Why doesn't she look in a mirror at herself, the promiscuous , dressed-in-skin-and-what-could-pass-as-a-shirt-woman..  
_

"Even if she was pretty!" The woman finished.

_Wow, that was nice._

_Pretty._

_...pretty..._

"Nevermind that!" Jace replied as Clary's mind reared back its claws. "Where did Carlin go?! Did you get in good with him yet?!"

Clarissa had no idea what this meant, nor who Carlin was. But she sensed some true assassin work was taking place, and if she wanted to kill her Mothers Murderers-because it was all their fault her death had taken place- then she needed to learn everything about assassin-try, as Jace so eloquently put it. And that meant even the slang.

The man replied, efficiently cutting off the woman-whom had her mouth opening and was preparing to speak. "He left to the upstairs room with Maia just a few minutes ago. And Izzy got nothing with him, he was like dead meat and she was practically giving him a hand job."

The woman-Izzy she guessed- replied with a sultry defense, "I was doing nothing of the sort, but I _was _flirting, and Alec was right...nothing." Her nose curled in distaste and Jace put on another one of his bar-fight grins, the party's lights doing wild things to his eyes, making him seem crazed or high. Or both. With a nod and a hushed, "Let's get this bastard," Clary followed the crew as the sauntered towards what Clary could only guess was a staircase.

Or she _tried _to follow the crew.

Clary wasn't _that _short. She would have been had she not taken one of her Fathers pills when she was younger and fallen into a coma. The time-lapse seemed to trigger a growth increase in everything, and afterwards she continued to grow at a normal pace. She'd never gone to the hospital but that was besides the point- Clary wasn't all that short. About 5'7. Average. Maybe just below.

But she had ever been to a party before- or a mosh-pit.

Because that was what this was more like.

People crowded around her, grinding against each other and bumping Clary with parts that she would rather not be bumped with. The faces and body parts all blended together and the flashy clothes were making her head spin. Her breathing was increasingly speeding up, and she could hear as it became labored. The closeness seemed to crawl in her chest and press her ribs towards her lungs, making it hard to fully extend them. Her throat was itching with this pressured throb it seemed as if her tongue was falling backwards and not letting any air in. Her lips became chapped and so _achingly _dry by sucking countless breaths in. She was shocked from her paralyzed state as someone fell into her back and pushed her into a man. He turned around and stared bug-eyed towards her face. One eye twitched and his leathery skin scrunched in a disgusting sneer. He advanced a step before Clary stumbled away, feet catching on stiletto's and beer cans. In a flash of strobe lights and arms and legs he was gone. Clary stumbled aimlessly for a bit- trying to ind purchase in the frenzy around her before her shin crashed against wood. With a hiss she looked down.

It was a stair. And just above it was another step, leading to another, and another.

Clary let out a breath of relief as she used both hands and feet to make her way through the slightly slimmer crowd.

At the top of the stairs the people seemed to just...stop. No one was past the first door in the hall. Clary took this as a bad sign but moved further into the corridor. She needed to find Jace. Her heart had this little seize when she thought of the fact that he'd left her alone in the place _he _brought her to.

_Dislike. Hate. Repulse._

_That's what it is._

But the thing was, Clary felt those things everyday, and they didn't feel like this.

It was strange, this throbbing had taken residence in her hands and fingers, aching to touch..._something. _She moved her hands against the drywall and felt the rough surface scratch her palms as she walked even further into the dimness of the hall. But it wasn't enough. And the pressure in her chest hadn't yet faded- from downstairs, from the car, from the training room, even from the time Jace saw her _goddamned _legs. She wanted to forget, she wanted to pass this feeling off to someone else. She didn't want to _bear _it anymore. It just...it was so...constricting! She _hated _not being able to take a deep breath. It was like strangulation. _  
_

Clary clenched her teeth to stop the scream that wanted to leap from her lips.

She rounded a corner, the only light now coming from a naked bulb, casting deep and dark shadows along every new opening where the doors were placed.

_Who needed that many rooms in a house?_

Clary just walked on. She could feel a sort of thrum running through her veins, not fear but more intimidation at what could be lurking behind every knob and wooden slab. She wasn't afraid. She couldn't be. Clary looked up and found that a few meters before her...the hall just...ended.

_Where is that idiot? _

_Where did they go?_

Clary absently wondered if there was another upstairs they could have gone to and was about to turn around when a flash caught her eye. She narrowed her eyes as she gazed about, eyes peering into the yellow wash of light engulfing the hall. ...there! Again!. It was in a shadow. Clary took a step towards the dark monster before a familiar golden head popped out of it.

Jace.

Clary felt her shoulders relaxed.

_No, you need to be independent!_

_Do _not _rely on that boy!_

He was a man...

_Independence...you need to be independent._

Yes, yes she did.

she took a deep breath and went to call his name when his had appeared, a gun entwined in his fingers. He pressed it to his lips in a gesture that simply meant '_shhhh' _

She could practically hear it in her ear, his husky breathing and seductive voice. Those alluring plush lips taunted her as they pulled against the sliding metal and Clary focused her hooded eyes reluctantly there- knowing Jace was watching her reaction. The metal clashed against his golden hair and skin tones making him look all ore. She licked her own lips as his tongue darted out to wet his, and realized she had missed that. His face. She liked staring at it.

But his eyes weren't normally that wide were they? When did they get that big-

An arm came round her throat and cut off her air supply, pulling her into an equally strong chest. She choked as she heard a man's raspy voice grunt into her ear, cool steel pressing into her temple.

"And who might _y__ou_ be?"

**Sorry, I haven't edited yet, but I'll get on it ASAP.**

**Wow...okay this was one of the longest chapters I have ever written. Anyways, what did you think? This was more of a filler chapter than an action one- a little more insight into Clary's feelings. **

**Question: Do you ever feel sorry for Clary? I mean, while writing this, I kind of felt sorry for making her heart weigh her down so much. I know how that feels and it sucks. **

**Anyways review, follow, favourite, read again...maybe...yah...totally? Reallyyyy...Nah...you would actually _do that _for me?!**

**You guys are great, Lovestory112. **


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